


something small but golden

by magisterpavus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Battle Couple, Childhood Friends, Declarations Of Love, Fantasy, First Time, Love Letters, M/M, Magical Bond, Major Character Injury, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Princes & Princesses, Prophetic Visions, Puberty, Revenge, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, True Love, this seems like an important tag bc shiro's really goin through it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23356102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterpavus/pseuds/magisterpavus
Summary: Shiro and Keith are princes from neighboring kingdoms whose friendship blooms into something more, the kind of something they can only bear to admit to themselves in clandestine letters and precious gifts.Not all secrets, however, are meant to be kept – and not all kings are meant to have queens.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 409





	something small but golden

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a VERY LONG twitter thread, which you can find [here!](https://twitter.com/saltyshiro/status/1222771536735555584) Thank you to everyone who supported it and wanted me to reformat it for ao3 because I had no idea how long it was until I did this, and honestly, how did it not break twitter? 
> 
> ANYWAY - here's a silly fairytale-style story about 2 pining princes named Shiro and Keith :') hope you enjoy. (and let's just ignore the fact that I never actually give shiro's kingdom a name. I COULDN'T DECIDE LOL.)

Once upon a time, there were two kingdoms, and two princes who admired each other very much. Prince Keith of Marmora admired Prince Takashi Shirogane’s genuine kindness, quiet confidence, and quick wit. Prince Takashi, who came to be known as Shiro by those close to him, admired Prince Keith’s relentless courage, pure honesty, and deep loyalty. 

They also both admired each other’s faces...in secret, of course, hardly able to admit their attraction even to themselves. Theirs was a lifelong friendship, one that grew from their parents’ frequent diplomatic visits, blossoming from innocent childhood play into wilder youth.

Keith and Shiro spent many long afternoons playing hide and seek around their families’ respective castles, and as they got older, they began to venture outside while their parents deliberated about dull politics. They rode their ponies in the woods, swam in the rivers and lakes, or explored the caves in the hills.

The first time they begin to admit to themselves that they see the other as more than a friend is on one of these adventures. They’re climbing a tree. Nimble and small as he is, Keith is a lot better at it than Shiro, and Keith is laughing at him from the highest branch. Shiro wants to protest, to defend himself or maybe throw an acorn at Keith’s head to preserve his _honor,_ but his thoughts stumble to a halt when the sunshine shifts and Keith is suddenly illuminated, all fluid lines, the fall of dark hair and indigo eyes, the sound of roughly lilting laughter.

Shiro manages a reply, somehow. He has no idea what he says. The rest of the day is a haze of mostly _Keith, Keith, Keith._

They’re young, then, Keith fourteen and Shiro on the cusp of sixteen, but old enough that both become terribly aware that yes, they have bodies, and yes, those bodies _do things._

They discover this in their own ways. For Shiro, it’s the night after that strange day of sunshine and laughter. This time, Keith’s family is visiting the Shirogane castle, so Shiro has his own room, but the Marmoras’ castle is smaller, so he and Keith have always shared Keith’s bed.

Alone in his huge, canopied bed, the young prince lays there among the tangled silk sheets, curled around a satin pillow and biting his lip hard, trying _not_ to think of Keith, of his best friend in all the kingdoms, as he wraps uncertain fingers around his swollen cock. 

(He fails.)

He feels bad about it, of course. Keith is his friend, and anyway — they both know how this will go. They’ll be married off not to princes, but princesses. Shiro finds he loathes this thought viscerally. He doesn’t _want_ a princess. He doesn’t want _anyone else_ to have Keith, either.

But that’s the thing about wanting — it doesn’t make your want come true, it just makes you want _more._ It’s a slippery slope from which Shiro can find no escape. He knows it isn’t fair, but he avoids Keith for the rest of the Marmoras’ visit. When they part ways, it’s strained.

Keith is confused and more than a little hurt. Shiro has never been so cool towards him before. He wonders if he did something wrong. He wonders if something has changed between their parents’ kingdoms, and his heart is gripped in cold fear at the possibility that peace doesn’t last.

Surely he and Shiro’s friendship would be stronger than a political rift. This is what Keith desperately tries to convince himself of. He finally asks his mother, pleading to know if the Shiroganes are now their sworn enemies.

Queen Krolia gives him an odd look and sits him down.

“Why do you think the Shiroganes are our enemies?” she asks gently, concerned by the uncertainty and fear in her son’s eyes. 

Keith explains how Prince Takashi suddenly ignored him and treated him as if they were mere acquaintances rather than dear friends, and Krolia thinks, 

_Oh._

“Keith,” she assures once he’s relayed his panicky tale, “the Shiroganes are not our enemies, but as close of allies as they’ve always been. I know Prince Takashi —” She pauses, delicately. “Cares for you very much, Keith. He may just be doing a _very poor job_ of expressing it.”

Shiro is in fact doing a bad job expressing his emotions, because he suddenly has _all of the emotions._ Mostly frustrated and sweaty. Is sweaty an emotion? Well, he feels it, anyway. He spends more time sparring, and for a while, it works as a distraction. 

Then he gets Keith’s letters.

_Takashi —_

_In truth, my mother told me to write you. You departed so fast the last time we met, & left me unsure as to the state of our friendship. I just wanted to tell you that you mean a lot to me, if that...was unclear. I want it to be clear. Is it clear? Sorry._

_Yours,_

_Keith_

Shiro reads the letter and screams a little, very quietly and at himself. But also at Keith. Because how dare he be so precious and yet so determined to affirm his — totally innocent and oblivious — caring for Shiro. Shiro takes a deep breath. He can’t just leave Keith without a reply.

_Keith,_

_I apologize for my hasty departure, it was unfair to you. Please know your care is very clear, & I am ever grateful for it, I only fear I am undeserving of it. I care for you also, of course. But we are both growing up, & I sense change on the wind. _

_Sincerely,_

_Shiro_

Keith’s reply comes mere days later, and the messenger is out of breath when he delivers it, muttering something about the Marmoran prince being “very insistent that it reach you with the utmost haste, Your Highness.”

_Takashi — Shiro (can I call you that here?),_

_What change do you mean? Is all well in your kingdom? Is your safety in question? Please explain. Letters frustrate me because I can hardly bear to wait for your reply. (But I am more glad than I can say that you care to reply.)_

_Keith_

Shiro writes a response he does not send, for he cannot. He blushes to read it, much less consider sending it to Keith. It reads:

_Beloved,_

_Of course you may call me Shiro. You may call me whatever you desire, for you are my dearest friend, & more than that, my only confidante. I’m sorry for worrying you. The change is not one of shifting alliances. In a perfect world, it would not be a change that caused any rift between us at all perceived or otherwise. But this is not a perfect world, & I fear the way I care for you is not the same way you do for me. _

_Nor should it be, perhaps. We could not be together; our parents, good as they are, would never allow it. They would say we are like brothers, though that is not how I feel for you any longer, & anyway, we have duties to our kingdoms & families to uphold. And yet....and yet, dear Keith, I find I do not care. If you would let me, I would spurn all those stupid laws & traditions just to hold you, to kiss you, to touch you until my name —_

(Here, the paper is smudged.)

_— is all you care to say every night we are together, & every morning, too. I know we are both far too young, but can you not see a future in which we are together, even if only in secret? Though, I confess I do not want you to be a secret, hidden between the bedsheets in a spare bedroom. What I feel for you is an overwhelming affection of body & soul. I would love you as you deserve to be loved, & perhaps you will dismiss this as a foolish youth’s fleeting fancy, but Keith, I swear to you, I have felt nothing more true & more terrifying than what I feel for you. It consumes me, & I do not wish to escape it. _

_But...I must. Maybe in another life my feelings for you are returned, & maybe in that life we can be together, happily, but in this life I see no path forward for us. I do not want to lose you as a friend, but to see you hurts my heart, & I do not know how to be close with you as we once were. But I care for you, Keith. Yes, I love you, not as a brother but as a lover who cannot be. Forgive me for keeping this from you. Now that it is written down, I may have some peace. Truly I just want to be your best friend again. I just don’t know how to stop loving you._

_Shiro._

When he has finished the letter, he feels as if he’s aged a century, and rolls up the parchment as soon as the ink dries, shoving it into his wardrobe and not really knowing why he’s keeping it at all, but the thought of burning it in the fireplace is too painful to bear. His actual reply to Keith’s letter is kind but reserved. 

He assures Keith there is no danger in his kingdom, all is well, and he misses Keith very much. Well, no, he crosses out that line and begins again, not wanting to make the young prince uncomfortable or reveal his feelings. 

They continue their correspondence this way for a year, until they have their next annual meeting. This time, the Shiroganes go to the Marmora castle, and Shiro finds himself faced with not just Keith, but Keith’s bed, which looks much, _much_ smaller than he remembers.

His parents had raised the suggestion of finding Shiro his own room. “Takashi is a man now,” his father said. “If Keith is uncomfortable —”

“Why would I be uncomfortable?” Keith said.

“Um,” Shiro said. “Uh.”

Krolia shrugged, but gave Shiro a keen look that made him squirm.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Keith said fiercely. “Shiro doesn’t want his own room —” He paused, brow creasing as he looked at Shiro. “...Do you?”

Shiro digs his nails into his thighs. Keith’s expression is heartbreaking and Krolia is now glaring politely. “Nope,” he squeaks.

He prays for a swift death by Krolia’s blade, but after supper she stops him in the hall and says, “My son missed you a great deal. He admires you very much, Prince Takashi. I know he appreciates your presence here. As do I.”

“Oh,” Shiro says. “I’m...honored.”

“You should be.”

She gives him a pat on the shoulder and Shiro wanders off to Keith’s room wondering if he’s going to be assassinated tonight or not. Queen Krolia is a very intimidating woman.

Keith is already in bed, and Shiro knows he’s doomed when he sees Keith’s only in a thin cotton nightshirt.

Keith smiles at him, messy hair falling into his face. “It feels like it’s been so long since we last saw each other.”

Shiro clears his throat and nods, jerky. “Yes. You look, um, well.”

Keith is _glowing._ He isn’t quite so lanky as last time, though he’s still — slight. Smaller.

Keith’s face flushes. Maybe it’s just the candlelight. “Ah — thank you. As do you.” Keith is staring at him with weird intensity, Shiro thinks. Is there something on his face?

Keith ducks his head. “Are you going to just stand there, or...”

“Sleep?” Shiro finishes, weakly.

“Sleep,” Keith echoes. “Yes. That.” He sounds almost drunk. Shiro blinks at him. Keith avoids his gaze.

Frowning, Shiro turns away, washing up and stripping off his outer garments, hesitating before taking a breath and peeling off his leggings, leaving only his tunic and smallclothes.

Keith makes a strange sound as Shiro turns around and approaches the bed. He pauses. Keith’s eyes are round. Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Are you alright?”

“Yes!” Keith retorts, hunching his shoulders and abruptly rolling over, pulling the blankets up. 

Bewildered, Shiro gets in bed.

_KEITH IS NOT ALRIGHT. KEITH IS HAVING A CRISIS._

Shiro’s weight dips the bed behind him and Keith tries to focus on breathing, swearing mentally. He’s always known Shiro was beautiful. And kind. And generally, the best. BUT NOW HE IS ALSO _SIX FEET OF MUSCLE._

 _ **OH, HELLS,**_ Keith thinks.

“Keith?” Shiro whispers as they lay in the flickering candlelight. Keith can’t bear to blow out the light just yet — the darkness will make them feel even closer.

Keith swallows. “Yes?”

“It’s good to see you again.”

Keith exhales and shivers. He wants Shiro to hold him. “Yes.”

Shiro shifts behind him and Keith’s breath catches. Will his dreams come true? Will Shiro close the distance between them — no. Surely not. He wouldn’t want to make Keith feel uncomfortable. Keith pauses. 

Oh, no. Was _that_ why everyone had been assuming Shiro needed his own bed?

Keith can suddenly bear to have the light on no longer, fearing Shiro might somehow see his red face, and blows out the candle just as Shiro says, “Thank you for your letters.”

Keith curls in on himself, hands in tight fists so he won’t roll over and touch Shiro as he so yearns to.

“You’re welcome,” Keith whispers. “Thank you for replying.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Shiro’s breath feathers warm over the nape of his neck.

“I — well, like you said, we’re growing up and things are changing.” Keith just didn’t know by ‘things’ Shiro meant his godlike body.

Shiro makes a soft sound. “You’re still my best friend...that hasn’t changed. Has it?”

“I hope not,” Keith whispers, relaxing a little. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“You still have me,” Shiro promises.

“And you, me.” Keith closes his eyes. “Goodnight, Shiro.”

*

Keith wakes up hours later, hot all over, smothered by the warmth and weight of a heavy body against his own. He can hardly breathe; his face is pressed to warm, yielding muscle and — Keith jolts awake, horrified, and lifts his head from Shiro’s chest.

Shiro is asleep and holding Keith, if the way he’s pressed indecently all up along Keith’s front can be called ‘holding.’

Keith is also holding Shiro, if the way he’s got every limb wrapped around the older prince can be called ‘holding.’

It’s unclear who to blame for this.

“Shiro,” Keith hisses, nudging him, but there’s no response. Shiro is drooling on the pillow and his arms are completely locked around Keith’s body, giving him very little room to squirm away. Not that he wants to squirm away. Keith’s heart pounds. _Something_ presses against his hip.

The something is not subtle. Even if he couldn’t feel it, it’s pretty damn obvious in Shiro’s smallclothes, tenting where his tunic drapes between his thighs. Blood roars in Keith’s ears. He should elbow Shiro, wake up and _leave._

But he doesn’t do that.

Instead, heart in his throat, Keith squirms closer and presses his thigh carefully to Shiro’s dick. 

Shiro groans sleepily, nuzzling into Keith’s hair and rolling his hips forward against Keith’s thigh. Keith bites his lip. His own cock throbs again the seam of his undergarments.

“Shiro,” Keith whispers again, voice cracking. “Wake up...” 

No response, except that Shiro’s arms tighten around him and Keith finds his cock trapped between them, pressing into Shiro’s belly. He whimpers, his squirming only worsening the situation. He is quite caught, utterly ensnared by the older prince.

But Keith’s not really trying to get away. He hiccups on a moan, rutting forward messy and helpless, lifting his fist to his mouth to stifle the higher pitched sound that leaves his lips when the crown of Shiro’s cock peeks out from under his waistband, leaking below his tunic.

Shiro’s breaths grow heavier as Keith squirms and presses his face back to Shiro’s chest, trembling and breathing him in as he thrusts once, twice, against Shiro’s hip before letting out a soft, startled cry when he comes, ruining his undergarments and shocking Shiro into waking.

Keith lifts his head to see Shiro’s eyes blink open in dazed confusion. “Mm...?”

Keith scrambles away with a wretched gasp. Shiro’s eyes widen with slow, horrified clarity, gaze darting down to Keith’s hands tugging his nightshirt down protectively, and to his own tented tunic.

“Fuck,” Keith gasps just as Shiro sits up, his expression transforming fully from confusion to horror. “I didn’t — I can’t —”

“Keith?” Shiro ekes out, his eyes wide. “Did I — did something — are you...?”

“I’m so sorry, I — I should go,” Keith gasps, and promptly flees the room.

Shiro lays there in Keith’s bed, stunned and more than a little afraid. He’s hard. Really, really hard. And Keith — he dreamed he was _with_ Keith, all tangled up with him in the best way. But if it wasn’t a dream..? Shiro buries his head in his hands. Oh, no. What if Keith woke up to him trying to — he feels sick.

But — Keith had apologized. Why would he apologize? Unless _Keith_ was the one trying to touch him, to make him...Shiro’s breath hitches, dipping from horror into something more like desperate curiosity. Did Keith do something while he was asleep? Is that why he ran?

Shiro would say he doesn’t jerk off while getting washed up for the day ahead, but that would be a lie. Keith woke him at dawn, but nervous energy buzzes under his skin; he won’t be getting anymore sleep. 

Yet again, he tries, and fails, not to think of Keith as he strokes himself to climax.

Once dressed and semi-presentable, Shiro searches the Marmoran castle for Keith, guilt still simmering through him. He can’t have gone far, right? 

Unless Keith is hiding from him. Shiro’s gut twists in uncertainty. He needs to know if he did something to break Keith’s trust…

Shiro walks through the drafty halls, peering to and fro for any sign of Keith. The sun is fully risen and the morning birds are calling to each other by the time he finally gives up and goes down to breakfast in glum defeat.

“Takashi, how did you sleep?” his mother asks, pouring him tea.

Shiro flinches, and takes the tea hastily. Krolia is sitting across from them, sipping her own tea and eyeing them over the edge of her mug. Krolia’s husband Kolivan sits beside her, picking moodily at his eggs. 

“Fine,” Shiro says, avoiding Krolia’s gaze. “It’s...good to be back.”

Shiro’s father beams. “It _is_ good to be back in Marmora, among such good friends.”

“Friends,” Shiro says. “Uh-huh. Can someone please pass the jam?” 

Kolivan grunts noncommittally and passes Shiro the jam. “Keith up yet?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Shiro chokes on his tea and desperately avoids eye contact.

“Keith went for a ride, I believe,” Krolia says, setting down her cup. “I ran into him near the stables at dawn. He seemed...out of sorts.”

“Oh, dear!” Shiro’s mother worriedly pours some more tea. “Takashi? Is Keith alright?”

“I...” Shiro’s shoulders slump. “I hope so.”

Queen Krolia tilts her head. “He will be fine,” she says, her tone gentler than Shiro has ever heard it. “He just needs some time with his thoughts.”

“That boy worries too much,” Kolivan sighs fondly.

“Oh, Shiro wouldn’t know anything about that,” his father jokes.

Shiro finishes his breakfast in a daze. Is Keith upset with him? Did Keith fall off his horse and die a horrible death, still upset with Shiro? 

Shiro distracts himself in the library, and then on a hunting trip, and then sparring with Kolivan, though that makes him even more nervous.

“You’re a good swordsman,” Kolivan tells him when they’re done. “At only seventeen summers, such skill is impressive.”

Shiro coughs into his fist, staring into the woods, hoping Keith wasn’t eaten by a bear. “Thank you, sir.”

Kolivan leans back, arms folded. “He’s fine. Relax.”

Shiro whirls to look at him. “He? Who? _What?_ I wasn’t —“

“Uh-huh,” Kolivan says, and tosses Shiro his sword. Shiro catches it clumsily. “Why don’t you take those to the armory, hm?”

The armory is right next to the stables. Shiro sweats. “Of course. Um. Right. I’ll just..do that.”

He trots off to the armory, keeping his head down, feeling even more sweaty and awkward than usual. When did his damn limbs get so long? Would it have been so hard for the universe to chop off a few inches, maybe? 

Shiro hunches over as he passes the stable, the swords clattering.

But he still catches sight of the shadowy figure sitting in the hay, knees tucked to his chest. Even when Shiro hurries past without attracting his notice, his heart aches at the thought of just leaving Keith there alone. He has to be brave and apologize, or at least try.

He puts the swords away and approaches carefully, clearing his throat when Keith still doesn’t seem to notice him. 

Keith’s head jerks up, and for an awful, awkward moment they just stare at each other.

Shiro tries to make words. “I...I’m glad you didn’t get eaten by a bear?”

Keith’s eyes widen. “Uh — yeah? Me too?”

“I’m sorry,” Shiro sighs. “It’s just, you left, & I wanted to say sorry, but then I couldn’t find you, and —“

Keith’s lips quirk cautiously. “And you thought a bear ate me.”

Shiro huffs. “It was a _definite possibility,_ Keith.”

Keith chuckles and shakes his head, looking down at the hay. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Shiro hedges, and when Keith doesn’t make as if to sprint away, he sits down in the hay next to him. “I really am sorry, though. It’s no excuse, but I was asleep, so I don’t know if I –”

Keith blanches. “Wait,” he stammers, “no, that’s not — you don’t need to apologize, Shiro.”

Shiro falters. He shifts a little closer, hardly daring to hope. “Oh. I don’t?”

“No.” Keith makes a face. “I’m sorry, Shiro. I...wasn’t thinking. Look, can we just forget this, maybe?”

Shiro stops hoping. “Oh,” he repeats, quieter, feeling kind of foolish. He nods, shrugs. “Of course. I just...as long as you’re sure you’re alright, Keith.”

Keith looks up at him. It’s a complicated look. He reaches out and touches Shiro’s knee. “With you, always.”

Shiro loves him. He loves him so much. He smiles, and it only hurts a little to say, “I’m glad, Keith.”

Keith tucks his hand back into his lap and clears his throat, then pauses and fiddles in his tunic pockets. He withdraws something small but golden. “I...wanted to give you this.”

Shiro blinks in confusion as Keith opens his fist and reveals the glittering locket in his palm. The chain is delicate and the locket itself is hardly larger than an acorn. It’s engraved with something, some sigil, and when Keith places it in Shiro’s hands, his skin tingles strangely.

Shiro gives him a questioning look, and Keith ducks his head. “It was my father’s,” he murmurs. “He gave it to me, before...” Keith trails off. They both know of Keith’s father’s death, years ago, in a fiery battle when he and his warriors were ambushed by the Galra in the mountains.

Shiro sucks in a breath. “Keith...I can’t accept this, he meant for you to have it —“

“No,” Keith says. “He told me, when he gave it to me, that I should give it to someone I held dear. It’s an enchanted locket, Shiro. It will ‘guard your heart,’ my father said — it will keep you safe.”

“How does that work?” Shiro asks, lifting the locket to the light and examining it with wonder.

Keith shrugs. “My father said it would guide the wearer to those loyal of heart, and so protect them. I know your kingdom isn’t under attack or anything like that,” he adds, “but just in case.”

Hesitantly, Shiro takes it and unclasps the chain, fumbling with it to fasten it around his neck. Keith watches, steady, weirdly intense, but relaxes slightly when it’s on.

“Thank you,” Shiro says, touching the locket again. The gold is warm from Keith’s skin. “It’s beautiful.”

 _You’re beautiful,_ Keith thinks, though his heart settles a little as he looks at Shiro in the orange glow of dusk, the locket shining at his throat. Shiro isn’t mad at him. Shiro was just worried about him. Keith manages a smile. 

Maybe, somehow, everything will work out okay.

The Shiroganes leave Marmora a week later, and their time together has never felt so short. They don’t sleep in Keith’s bed — wordlessly, Shiro procures a cot and takes the floor before the fireplace. Although Keith misses his body so close, he accepts the change without complaint.

They pretend everything is the same as it’s always been, though they find themselves watching the other with new warmth only to glance away hastily to avoid being caught looking so tenderly.

All is well, albeit different, yet as the Shiroganes at last ride off to their kingdom, Keith’s chest burns with a sudden stab of pain.

Beside him, Krolia sees her son’s hand fly to his heart, grasping at his tunic with a twisted expression. She covers his hand with her own, her skin prickling with an awful deja vu. 

“You gave him the locket,” she whispers. Keith nods, and her worry grows. “Why?”

Keith watches the Shiroganes ride off, hand still over his heart. “What does it mean?” he asks, ignoring her question. “Why does it hurt?”

Krolia swallows hard. She wore the locket when Keith’s father burned, alone, in the mountains. The pain she felt then was incomparable.

Her son is far too young for such pain. He doesn’t deserve that, nor does Prince Takashi. But this world doesn’t care much about youth and innocence. Still...one can hope they will have a happier ending.

“It is an old magic,” she says. “One that binds two hearts together.”

 _My heart is already bound to him,_ Keith doesn’t say.

“Oh,” he whispers, as the Shiroganes’ horses disappear among the trees. “And that hurts?”

“It can,” Krolia sighs. “Come, my son. He will return.”

She doesn’t know this, but she hopes for both their sakes that it is true.

*

Lance is a simple man. He’s a royal messenger and he would like to think he’s good at his job. The best, even.

However, if he has to deliver one more _clearly pining_ letter to the Marmoran prince, he thinks he’s gonna lose it. Did they not learn how to communicate in prince school?

This is why when his friend in the royal guard, Hunk, makes a comment about Prince Takashi burning candles late into the night, which makes the guards fear he’s never sleeping, Lance goes snooping.

He knows the prince writes a lot of letters, but not _that_ many....

What Lance doesn’t expect to find when he sneaks into the prince’s chambers during a Shirogane family trip to the seaside is a large parcel of letters stuffed inside one of the wardrobe drawers. Lance stares at the name written on the parcel in disbelief: Keith. 

_HMMMMM._

Lance _knows_ that in all likelihood, the Prince never intends to send these letters.

But. BUT.

This nonsense has been going on for years. Prince Takashi is twenty-two and still unbetrothed, much less wed, and it doesn’t take a genius to know he’s not interested in the princesses who visit the castle.

He hasn’t been writing the princesses years’ worth of letters, anyway. 

Lance likes his job well enough, but if he’s found out he’ll happily run away to join his friend Pidge’s guild of bards. Nothin’ to lose.

He takes the parcel and delivers the letters to Marmora in record time.

Keith is sparring with Lady Acxa when the messenger from Shiro’s kingdom arrives and rides up to them.

“Oh?” Acxa says, noting the lion heraldry with interest & raising an eyebrow. “A letter from the Shiroganes? How exciting.”

Keith ignores her. He’s a little confused — he hasn’t sent Shiro a letter, lately.

Without bothering to dismount, the messenger extends a hand to Keith. “Some very important letters for you, Your Highness.”

Keith stares at the stack of letters contained in a parchment parcel in the messenger’s hand. There must be dozens, at least. A hundred, even. “What...?”

“There must be a mistake, I –” Then he sees his own name, scrawled in Shiro’s handwriting on the front of the stack. Keith takes it numbly, staring at it for a moment more before looking back up at the messenger — but the messenger is already riding off. Keith furrows his brow.

Acxa leans over, her eyes widening. “Did he write you a damn novel?”

Keith turns red, stuffing the parcel under his tunic and shaking his head. “It’s probably just a practical joke. That messenger — Lance? — is notorious for being a trickster.” 

But he’s not so sure.

Truth be told, though he’s never stopped loving Shiro, it’s become harder and harder to stay in touch with him as often as they used to. Part of the problem is the growing pain Keith feels each time he hears the news that yet another princess has paid the Shirogane prince a visit.

Shiro has not yet accepted any of their hands in marriage, nor asked, but Keith’s not a fool. He knows it’s only a matter of time. 

Besides...Kolivan has been pushing Keith and Acxa to spend more time together. The alliance of their marriage would be a strong one for Marmora.

Acxa is a very good friend and sparring partner, but Keith doesn’t want to marry her. He tried to want it, for a while — maybe after Shiro’s letters became rarer, or after Shiro avoided him at the Shiroganes’ last ball, an event meant more for visiting princesses than princes.

But Keith has accepted, painful though that acceptance is, that no one will ever make him feel the way Shiro does.

That’s why, when he opens the letters later in his bedroom and sees the first is addressed, _‘My beloved Keith,’_ he struggles to remember how to breathe.

By the time he gets through the third letter, Keith is spiraling. There’s no possible way in hell nor heaven that this is real. He’s dreaming. Must be. Or else — or else, some witch or cruel wizard plucked the very thoughts from his mind and scrawled them out in Shiro’s hand.

Then he gets to a letter that takes his breath away entirely:

_My beloved Keith,_

_Do you ever have a dream, & when you wake the dream vanishes from your mind, but at some later moment you recall it in lovely detail? I was thinking of the dream I had when we last shared your bed. I know you said we should forget it, but I confess I have been unable to do so. When I woke & you fled, I was too anxious to dwell on the dream I had been awoken from. _

_But now that I recall — how it felt to hold you, to kiss you, to sink into you so deep — it feels like a memory. The way you looked in that dream will, I think, haunt me always in the gentlest yet most devastating of ways. You are so beautiful, you know — & in the dream, I thought I should die for how beautiful you were, like one of those faery princes from the old tales. Is that silly?_

_I end so many of these letters with some longing, tragic note about how we cannot be together, no matter how much I wish it. But in this dream we were together, Keith, & we were happy. I hope wherever you are, whomever you are with...you are happy, now. That’s all I wish._

_Shiro._

But Keith isn’t happy. Keith is crying, curling in on himself, caught somewhere between ecstatic relief and shocked bewilderment. All this time — and why _now?_ Why send all of these letters at once — perhaps he’s finally getting betrothed, and this is a goodbye? Keith weeps harder.

It’s then, fittingly, that his chest is seized with a searing, violent pain, and Keith cries out, the letters scattered around him, He gasps soundlessly, struggling to leave the bed and stagger to the door.

This is how Krolia finds him as she bursts into his bedroom in a panic.

“Shiro,” Keith gasps, reaching out to her, falling hard into her arms because he knows, he _knows_ something has gone terribly wrong.

“The Galra have invaded the Shiroganes’ kingdom,” Krolia whispers, holding him tight. “Their castle gates are breached, and the royal family —“

“Don’t say it,” Keith begs, “please...”

“They’re dead, Keith,” Krolia says, closing her eyes. “They’re all dead.”

Keith’s furious wail of grief is broken only by the shouts from the courtyard. Krolia and Keith run to the window as a black stallion gallops through the gates.

His rider is slumped over, his right side hidden by his cloak, his hair streaked white with ash, but the golden locket glowing brightly at his throat is unmistakable, guiding him from the jaws of death to the one who loves him most.

Krolia shouts after him, but Keith is already running out the door and down the castle stairs, sprinting into the courtyard just as Shiro’s stallion stops, the whites of its eyes showing, frothing at the bit, flanks soaked in sweat as Shiro slumps fully and falls from the saddle.

Keith catches Shiro in his arms, at first struck by relief that he still lives, relief quickly fading into horror as he feels Shiro’s bloodsoaked right side and sees where his arm has been cleaved away as if by a greataxe. His ashen face is bloodied by a deep slash over his nose.

The locket may have saved him, but it did so at a terrible price. Keith clings to him, burying his face in Shiro’s hair and lifting the prince up in his arms, carrying him to the castle. Shiro stirs, eyes blinking open once in bleary confusion. “Keith,” he rasps, then falls silent.

*

Shiro sleeps for many days and many nights, and Keith does not leave his bedside. Krolia summons the best healers in Marmora, but even then, the best they can do is to stabilize him. 

“He will wake,” they explain, “when he wills it. That choice is his own, not ours.”

And still Keith waits. The healers explain that though Shiro is far away, he may be able to hear them, so Keith reads him their favorite childhood stories and sometimes, when everyone else has gone to sleep, sings quiet lullabies. He doesn’t know what else to do except to be there.

Once, in the middle of a sweet song about the harvest moon, Shiro opens his eyes. Keith grasps his hand, leaning over him, heart in his throat. “Keith,” Shiro says again, voice hoarse from disuse. 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers. He squeezes his hand, hesitates. “I — got your letters.”

Shiro’s brow creases. His hand falls from Keith’s grip. “What letters?”

Keith’s breath hitches. “The — the letters you sent, about..us.” His nails dig into his thigh as Shiro’s eyes widen and he blanches, hand balling into a weak fist. 

“I never sent those. I was never going to.”

Keith swallows. “Oh,” he whispers. “Never?”

In reply, Shiro turns his head away, and closes his eyes again. His expression is pained. Keith doesn’t understand, but Shiro is in no condition to talk about this. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up at all, but he couldn’t help it. The possibility, the apparent reality, that Shiro loves him back – it’s not something he can just let go. Can he?

“I’m sorry,” Keith offers. “I...I didn’t read them all, I can burn them, if you want...?”

“Go away, Keith,” Shiro whispers in the smallest voice Keith’s ever heard. 

Keith shakes his head. “But — Shiro, I —“

“Leave me,” Shiro repeats, pleading now. “Keith. Please.”

Keith leaves him.

Quietly, alone in a dark bed in a dark castle that is not his own, Shiro cries.

He’s still wearing that bloody locket, and fumbling with his remaining hand, ignoring the pain in his right side, he unlatches the chain and lets it fall through his fingers to the floor with a dull thud. He doesn’t want it. He knows it saved him. 

But it didn’t save anyone else.

Shiro closes his eyes. He doesn’t know if he imagined Keith saying he got the letters — Shiro has no idea how he would have. Either way, it doesn’t matter. It’s been years. Keith is already as good as betrothed to that Marmoran warrior daughter of a baroness. 

Even if he wasn’t...there’s nothing Keith wants, here. Nothing more than friendship, and Shiro doesn’t even know if he can offer that, now. He’s a prince without a kingdom. His family is dead — the Galra saw to that, and saw to it that Shiro saw them do it. He exhales. 

He is done writing letters.

*

Shiro heals, and Keith keeps his distance. 

He hoped to repair things between them, though he isn’t sure what’s even broken, but when he crept back into Shiro’s room later that night and saw the locket discarded on the ground, Keith got the message. Shiro told him to go, after all.

But Keith can’t bring himself to burn the letters. He tried, kneeling before the hearth with them in his arms for a long moment before he turned away, wiping angry tears away. If Shiro won’t even look at him anymore, at least he can keep this. The letters both heal and hurt.

Keith stays up late reading them by candlelight, and won’t admit to it, but some letters end with him in compromising positions, muffling his sounds in his pillows, refusing to feel guilty afterwards. Shiro wrote these, and even if his feelings have changed — he wanted Keith, once.

But now, all Shiro seems to want is revenge.

Not that Keith nor anyone can blame him. The Shiroganes were murdered — tortured, if the accounts from survivors are to be believed. Shiro hasn’t said anything of it. The kingdom is in chaos under the Galra and the people are suffering.

Shiro’s presence in Marmora is thus a well-guarded secret. This is not difficult, as the Marmora are a fiercely loyal and rather insular people. Their alliance with the Shiroganes was a special thing, and so the new Shirogane king remains safely hidden from the searching Galra for months.

Eventually, however, another kingdom gets involved — Altea, which borders the Shiroganes’ lands. It’s a far bigger and more powerful kingdom than both, but their healers and alchemists have valuable skills, and when Shiro hopes for a new arm, Queen Krolia warily contacts King Alfor.

As it turns out, Altea is as bent on vengeance against the Galra as Shiro. Since the Galra took the Shirogane castle, they’ve been mounting attacks against Altea’s borders, with massive casualties. King Alfor offers Shiro more than an arm — he offers him an army...and a princess.

The Princess Allura is a skilled diplomat, but even her diplomacy has not been enough to sway the Galra and she has had enough of the slaughter of her people and her father’s knights.

She visits Marmora with the other Altean Druids, skilled healers. Shiro meets her in his new crown.

Keith watches from his window, heart sinking. She is beautiful, and holds herself with a profound elegance and wisdom that says she will someday be a queen, and a good queen, too. She and Shiro make a fitting pair; they could never be mistaken for anything less than royal.

Shiro greets her with a kiss to her gloved hand. He says something that makes her laugh, the pearls in her hair glittering in the sunshine, and then Keith cannot bear to watch them talk together any longer.

A week later, the Druids succeed in creating an arm fit for a king.

Shiro is still healing, but he will not be persuaded to stay in bed by anyone — except for one day when by chance, Keith finds Shiro practicing his swordsmanship with his new silver arm in the less-used sparring ring. He’s alone, going through his paces, gritting his teeth in pain.

Keith stops short. Shiro pauses, sword still raised, sweat on his brow. He raises an eyebrow at Keith, and has the _nerve_ to pretend everything is fine. “Yes?”

Keith folds his arms. “You should be resting.”

Shiro’s jaw tightens. “You know I can’t do that.”

Keith’s eyes narrow.

“Last I checked,” Keith says, slow and quiet, “I was the prince of Marmora, not you. You’re in Marmora. Go rest.”

Shiro’s brow creases. He sets down his sword. “I know you’re only trying to help,” he starts, “but, Keith, you don’t understand —“

“Don’t understand what?” Keith retorts. “That you won’t let anyone help you? Yeah. I understand that just fine. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you destroy yourself.”

“You don’t get to make that choice for me,” Shiro says, almost gently, though his eyes are hard.

“Then who does?” Keith retorts. “King Zarkon?”

Shiro flinches, the gentleness gone from his voice when he says, “I’ll rest this time, Your Highness. But in the future, I’ll remind you that I’m not a prince anymore. I am a king. You have no command over me, in Marmora or not.”

Keith flinches, true though it may be. “Then why obey me at all?” he snaps.

Shiro looks away. “You read the letters,” he sighs. “You know why.”

Keith’s heart leaps. “So you do remember that.”

Shiro shakes his head. “I would rather you forget it.” He returns to the castle.

The next time Keith sees him is also the first time he properly meets Allura. He’s passing through the hall when she sees him and calls him over to take tea with her and Shiro. Keith can’t exactly refuse, so he quietly goes, accepts his cup, and avoids looking at Shiro.

“Shiro has told me so much about you,” Allura exclaims, leaning forward with a sparkle in her eye. “I must admit, you cut quite a mysterious figure — the brooding, dark prince of Marmora.”

Keith frowns. “Brooding?”

Shiro coughs and stares very hard at his tea.

It’s very good tea, but Shiro doesn’t have much of an appetite when Keith says, _“I_ don’t brood. That’s Shiro. He even writes _letters_ about _all his brooding.”_

Shiro sets his cup down hard. Allura looks at him curiously. Keith stares at him, gaze sharp enough to cut diamonds.

“What sort of letters?” Allura asks. “A diary, do you mean?”

Shiro’s heart hurts. This is what he feared — that if Keith knew, he would mock him for it. This is why Shiro doesn’t wish to talk about it. The questions Keith would ask him would ruin whatever remains of their friendship.

Shiro forces a smile. “Just letters,” he says, and gives Keith an even sharper look. “They aren’t important.”

To his confusion, Keith’s face crumples, and he looks away hastily, shoulders slumping. 

“Oh,” Allura says. “Er — well, nevermind! Keith, these Marmoran teas are lovely.”

So they drink tea, and Keith looks like a kicked puppy, and Shiro aches to reach out to him...but he also knows that it cannot be, at least, not now, not yet, not as long as Zarkon still draws breath.

In the visions Zarkon’s sorceress showed him, he didn’t just kill Shiro’s family.

He doesn’t know — cannot know — if those visions were a terrible nightmare or indeed the even more terrible future that Haggar and Zarkon promised they were. But in that future, Marmora fell just as his kingdom did. And Shiro could do nothing as the emperor stormed Krolia’s castle.

Shiro could do nothing as Zarkon raised his blade against the Marmoran Queen, who stood between him and her son, and when she had fallen, Shiro could do nothing but scream and scream in the sorceress’s grasp as Zarkon’s sword parted Keith’s chest. 

Shiro cannot let that happen.

Haggar knew Keith was precious to him. Shiro will not allow the Galra that advantage. He will not show that weakness, if it means Keith will live, if it means it will give Shiro time to best Zarkon personally before he even gets close to Marmora.

And afterwards — Shiro doesn’t know if there will be an afterwards. But if there is, then he will be able to rest easy knowing Keith will live. Perhaps Keith already hates him for his coldness now, but Shiro knows he will never stop loving Keith, married or not, prince or king.

*

Keith prefers not to drink tea with Shiro and Allura after that. He knows he shouldn’t have brought up the letters, but he didn’t expect Shiro’s cold reply. Still...he _knows_ Shiro, and Keith swears he saw conflict in Shiro’s expression, heard a tremor in his voice. Is he pretending?

And why would Shiro pretend that the letters meant nothing? Surely he can’t think that Keith feels nothing for him. But then, why else pretend to feel nothing for Keith? Shiro is a mystery wrapped in an enigma and as battle draws nearer, Keith only grows more worried about him.

Keith shows up to the war table meetings even though he was never invited. The plan is this: the Altean army will launch a full offensive from their border with Galra while Shiro, his family’s few remaining soldiers, and the Marmoran Blades will covertly breach the castle.

“We take the castle, we win,” Shiro reasons.

Keith leans against the wall and folds his arms. “You kill Zarkon, you win, is what you mean.”

The war table falls silent. Shiro raises an eyebrow. “You object to Zarkon’s death?”

“No,” Keith says. “But this is a bad idea.”

“This isn’t your call, Keith,” Shiro says. 

“You say that now,” Keith says, “but on the battlefield —“

“You won’t be on the battlefield with us,” Shiro says. 

Keith steps away from the wall. “What?”

“Shiro,” Krolia starts, eyeing Keith, “we haven’t decided that yet.”

“I have,” Shiro murmurs. There’s a note of regret in his voice, of apology, and Keith doesn’t _understand._ “This is something I have to do alone, Keith. I won’t argue with you on this.” He sounds...tired.

Keith glares. The war table is quiet, the air thick and tense. “You’re a bloody fool, Takashi Shirogane. This is exactly what he wants you to do — go after him.”

“I can’t hide in Marmora forever,” Shiro retorts, tone hard again. “As you’ve said, this is your kingdom. Not mine.”

“The dead can’t rule, either,” Keith snaps, a lump in his throat, eyes stinging as he turns and leaves the war room, eyes stinging. _“Idiot,”_ he hisses outside the room. “Stupid, self-sacrificing bastard.” But curses don’t stick to Shiro, and they don’t make Keith feel any better.

*

That night Shiro meets with Krolia in her private office. She stands before the windows, arms folded, and levels a stare at him. “You’re keeping Keith out of the mission because of the vision Haggar showed you. You think it’s real, then? A prophecy of his death?”

Shiro nods slowly. “It... _felt_ real. She said it was real. And I don’t trust her, but — if there’s even a chance that it could happen — he can’t be there.”

“I understand.” Krolia tilts her head. “But that isn’t the whole truth, is it?” Shiro tenses. “How did the vision end?”

Shiro is quiet. Krolia’s eyes narrow, in an expression Keith often wears, the one that says he isn’t gonna take any bullshit. “There’s a reason you haven’t told him about the vision. Isn’t there? If it was just his death, you would have told him. But if Zarkon killed you, too...”

“If Keith knew that this ends with Zarkon and I fighting to the death, he would never let me go,” Shiro whispers. “You know I’m right about that. Worse, he would try to do it himself.”

“He might still try,” Krolia mutters. She pauses. “Is your death how this will end, then?”

“One of us,” Shiro sighs. “That’s what Haggar said. Either me, or him. Maybe it was to lure me to Zarkon — or maybe it’s the truth. Either way, I want Zarkon dead. And I don’t think you’ll argue I should wait and see if she was bluffing about Keith.”

“No,” Krolia agrees.

“We’ll march when the snows thaw, then?”

Krolia nods. “I will tell Keith he will remain here, to protect Marmora.”

In the shadows outside the closed door, Keith sucks in a breath. No. _No._ He knew Shiro was self-sacrificing, but this — Keith won’t allow it. _Can’t_ allow it.

Keith runs from the door just in time to miss Krolia say, “Oh, and Shiro? If Haggar was lying as I dearly hope she was, then promise me one thing: afterwards, you’ll tell my son the truth of what you feel for him. Please.”

“I don’t think he wants to hear it...but I promise.”

When the castle sleeps, Keith prepares for battle, his blade and a sharp dagger at his hip, leather armor offering little protection but quiet enough for him to remain in the shadows. He pins on his traveling cloak and creeps out to the stables, readying his horse for a long ride.

He has a terrible feeling about this fool’s errand of Shiro’s, and knows that maybe trying to take on Zarkon himself is a fool’s errand, too — but at least it’s one he has control over. He casts a look up at the castle, heart heavy. This may well be the last time he sees it.

*

Shiro never threw away the locket. He couldn’t bear to. He just stopped wearing it, but kept it tucked away in his cloak, which was why he was woken suddenly in the night by a piercing golden light flooding his room, emanating from his cloak where it hung upon the wall.

But it wasn’t just the light — it was a dread, a building sense of urgency which blossomed into a fever pitch when he stumbled out of bed and lifted the locket out of the pocket. As soon as he touched the golden chain, it ceased its blinding glow, but pulsed with urgent radiance.

All around him, the air alights with a chorus of whispers: _Go to him...to him..._

Panic climbing in his throat, Shiro whirls, running to the window just as a bay horse gallops from the stables with its dark rider. 

_Before it is too late,_ the locket sighs. Shiro grabs his cloak.

Shiro runs down the stairs, out into the courtyard and through the thawing snow, so panicked he doesn’t even have half a mind to fetch his horse. He runs after the hoofprints and cries out into the night, and the locket burns at his throat, the pain driving him on ‘til he sees Keith.

“Keith!” he shouts again, and Keith’s horse balks as Keith stops suddenly, turning to look at Shiro in disbelief, his face shining in the moonlight under the penumbra of his hood. 

“...Shiro?” Keith’s voice is high, startled, and for a moment he sounds like a child again.

“Keith,” Shiro gasps, staggering to a halt before him, the locket still faintly glowing. He must look quite a sight, in his cloak and nightclothes, still wearing slippers, soaked in sweat. Keith stares at him like he’s a ghost. “Don’t go,” Shiro says, breathless. “Keith, please.”

Keith stares at him, and for an awful moment Shiro thinks he might just ride away, out of Shiro’s reach, to what will certainly be his death.

“I heard you speaking with my mother,” Keith whispers into the night wind. “You’re going to die, fighting Zarkon. I won’t let you.”

Then Keith sees the locket and his eyes widen. “It’s...” He starts, stops. Swallows hard. “The locket led you to me.”

Shiro nods slowly, spellbound. “Yes. Why did it...what does that mean, Keith?”

Keith’s eyes dart back up. “I...it means...we’re...good friends.”

Shiro doesn’t think lockets glow and sing just for good friends. But he also knows that to voice this thought might send Keith running away all over again. “Best friends,” Shiro says, soft but firm. “Keith...that never changed. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Nor I, you, Takashi.”

“Then stay,” Shiro pleads. “Keith —“

“Don’t be a martyr, then,” Keith warns.

Shiro’s brow furrows. “Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing now? Dying for a cause, to prove a point?” 

“No,” Keith whispers. “Your cause is regaining a kingdom. My cause is just... _you.”_

“And what do you think I would do, if you killed Zarkon, and I got my kingdom, but you were gone?” Shiro asks. 

Keith’s brow creases. “You would be a king with a throne...”

“At the expense of my dearest friend’s life. That’s no victory, Keith.”

Keith blinks at him. “Then...then you let me go with you to defeat him.”

“And we both die? Keith –”

“No, listen to me.” Keith’s gaze is dark, wild and determined. “Did it ever occur to you that Zarkon just wanted to separate us because he knew that together, he’d have no chance?”

There’s no way Shiro could say no to him. He stares up at Keith, glaring down from his saddle with complete resolve, and bows his head, suddenly overcome with numb exhaustion, wind howling around them. 

“Very well,” he whispers. He sees the vision behind his closed eyelids again.

He doesn’t know what expression he’s making, but it must be one of great anguish, because Keith leaps from the saddle of his horse to stand before Shiro, grasping his cold bare hands in his own gloved ones and squeezing. “Shiro,” Keith whispers, “it will be alright. I promise.”

Shiro opens his eyes. Their faces are so close, Keith’s breath warm on his skin, his dark lashes speckled with frost. Shiro wants so badly to kiss him. But instead, he wraps his arms around Keith tight and draws him into a firm embrace. Keith squeaks, then relaxes with a sigh.

“We fight together, then,” Shiro murmurs. “So long as you understand that if your life is put in danger, I will do whatever it takes to prevent that future from coming to pass.”

Keith hums, stepping back with a crooked grin. “So long as you understand I’ll do the same for you.”

Shiro sighs. “You are impossible.”

“It’s been said.” Keith shrugs. 

Shiro finally becomes fully aware that he’s shivering violently. Keith’s brow furrows. “I can’t believe you chased after me in the snow, on foot. You’re going to get frostbite.”

“Might as well lose both arms?”

Keith splutters at him. Still shivering but undeterred, Shiro adds, “I can’t believe YOU rode off in the middle of the night to assassinate Zarkon. You realize your mother would have started a war, right?”

Keith looks guilty, finally. “Um,” he mumbles, “didn’t think about that.”

Shiro sighs. “No. Of course not.” Keith huffs and Shiro wearily turns back to the castle. “Anyway...it’s past midnight. If you’re sure you’re not riding off to fight Zarkon, then I’m going back to bed.”

“You’re not walking back,” Keith exclaims, and nods to his horse. “C’mon.”

Shiro hesitates, but Keith is already leading him over and offering him a hand to get up into the saddle. Shiro sighs and accepts it, freezing when Keith swings himself up in the saddle in front of him, and takes the reins. “Hold on to me,” Keith says. “Unless you want to fall.”

Slowly, Shiro wraps his arms around Keith’s middle. It might be his imagination but he thinks that despite his thick cloak and leather armor, Keith shivers. Keith is warm and solid against him, and sensation returns to Shiro’s fingertips as Keith nudges his horse into an easy canter.

They get back to the castle in one piece, and say goodnight quietly in the hall, words that feel strange in Shiro’s mouth, strange because what he wants to say is, “Share the night with me,” strange because he knows he’s not going to sleep a wink, worrying about Keith leaving.

But maybe Keith sees the worry in his face, because he pauses before they part ways and says, “Shiro? Are you still cold?”

Shiro’s heart hurts, but in a better way, this time. He blinks at Keith in the shadowed hall. “I thought maybe you hated me. I know I’ve been...distant.”

Keith sucks in a sharp breath. He takes a step closer, the torchlight flickers across his handsome face. “I could never hate you,” he whispers. “And I know – I know they hurt you. I just wish you would...trust me enough to lean on me, if you need it. I’m here. For you.”

Shiro reaches out, and Keith’s breath hitches as Shiro cups his jaw, drawing his thumb over the high curve of Keith’s cheekbone. “I know,” he whispers back. “And I’ll never know what I did to deserve you.”

“You never had to do anything,” Keith breathes. “Just be my best friend.”

Shiro hesitates. “Keith...I don’t want to...overstep. But...do you remember, when we used to stay up so late together, exchanging wild stories by the fire and sneaking out ale from the cellar?”

“Of course I remember.” Keith’s eyes shine. “You’re not overstepping.”

“Then – stay with me tonight, like we used to,” Shiro says. “It’s been...a long time. And no matter what happens in the battle to come, I want to have these moments with you fresh in my mind.”

Keith wet his lips. “You’re sure you wouldn’t prefer spending time with Princess Allura?”

Shiro pauses, realization snapping into place. “You...are you jealous?”

Keith ducks his head. “Hah. _What?_ No. Of course not. That’s absurd. Want me to get the ale? I’ll go get the ale. Meet me at my door.” And he hurries off.

Shiro opens his mouth, closes it. _Hmmmm._

Shiro waits at his door, and when Keith returns, he’s triumphantly carrying a bottle of what looks like old and expensive ale. Shiro raises an eyebrow. “What? You’re a king, aren’t you?”

Shiro clears his throat. “Uh — technically not coronated yet, but –”

Keith shrugs. “You are.”

Shiro blinks. “By decree of Prince Keith?”

“Crown Prince Keith,” Keith corrects with a cheeky smirk. Shiro wonders if he hasn’t gotten into the ale already.

Keith sets up a cot for Shiro in front of the fire, and they end up chatting on the cot, passing the ale between them.

Keith looks up at Shiro as he laughs at some silly joke Keith made. Shiro always laughs at those jokes. It’s sweet. Shiro is sweet. 

Shiro stops laughing. He leans closer in concern. “Keith? Did you have too much ale? You look a little – oh.”

Keith slumps forward, onto him.

Face smushed up against Shiro’s chest, Keith mumbles, “Yeah, ‘m good. You’re warm.”

“Ah,” Shiro wheezes, “guess so. Uh – are you –”

Keith nuzzles into his nightshirt with a pleased sigh. Shiro smells good. Like happiness. He wraps an arm around Shiro’s waist. Shiro makes a choked noise.

“I’m just gonna stay here,” Keith mumbles. “Okay?”

Shiro swallows thickly, his flailing hands settling on Keith’s back, the right one curling around the nape of his neck. Keith makes a pleased coo at the contact. Gods, he’s weird. Shiro loves him more than words can express. “Sure,” Shiro whispers.

They sit like that for a while. Keith seems content to curl tucked close against Shiro, and by the time the fire is smoldering to coals, Keith is asleep. The bottle of ale is almost empty. Shiro takes a last swig before sighing and carefully laying down, bringing Keith with him.

Keith makes a soft sound of discontent at the brief separation before curling close again, his arm thrown heavy over Shiro’s hip, breath hot through Shiro’s nightshirt. Shiro forgets what the cold feels like. He leans down and presses a kiss to Keith’s brow — just one. It’s enough.

Shiro doesn’t really believe in gods, but laying there with Keith in the firelight he whispers prayers to every damn deity he knows, begging the world to let this battle end with a victory untainted by the death of half of a whole.

He falls asleep with these prayers on his lips.

* 

They go to war the next week, when the snows finally thaw. 

There are some murmurs or surprise at Keith’s presence beside Shiro, and Krolia gives them both cool, warning looks, but no one stops them. Kolivan stays behind in Marmora, and Allura returns to Altea’s armies.

The morning is clear and bright; it seems poor weather for a slaughter. The horses pick their way over the warming earth, all mounts chosen for subtlety and secrecy, none flashy colors – only black and brown and dark roans. The Marmora use stocky mountain horses; they hardly look royal.

But they’re well-suited for battle, should it come to that. Shiro’s stallion was left behind in Marmora; he rides a black gelding with a white star, beside Keith’s dark bay, borrowed from Kolivan. The castle fades into the distance behind them, and the warriors ride in tense quiet.

It’s about a day’s ride to the Shirogane castle, but it’s a treacherous path, and they take a detour to avoid a direct route from Marmora. As they reach the borders of Shirogane lands, Shiro’s grip on the reins tightens. The villages are scarred with recent battles, some mere ashes.

They split up, for though they’re already a small company, they don’t want to attract any unnecessary attention. Shiro is cloaked like the rest of them, face hidden in the shadow of his hood, but Keith can see his deep frown and tight jaw.

“Hey,” he whispers, “this isn’t your fault. You’ll help them. Soon.”

Ash swirls through the air. “That moment cannot come soon enough,” Shiro whispers, gaze lingering on the burnt-out shells of houses and shops, of ransacked farms and silent streets. His expression is distant, haunted. 

“Stay with me, Shiro,” Keith mutters, riding close beside him.

They ride onward, with Keith and Shiro flanked by two other Blades, Thace and Ulaz, while Krolia leads another group of Blades a ways off, and Antok leads the third group. 

They have a plan of attack, but the closer they get to the castle, the more restless Shiro becomes.

The journey from Marmora took most of the day, so it’s nightfall by the time they reach the inn they’ve agreed to set up camp at. Each group is in a different inn, and they’re supposed to begin the attack at dawn, but Keith can see in Shiro’s eyes that he’s in no mood for sleeping.

Shiro and Keith share a room. The inn is quiet, and when they say their goodnights to Thace and Ulaz and the door is shut tight behind them, Keith turns to Shiro and says, “You want to attack now.”

Slowly, Shiro nods. “There’s a tunnel, a hidden entrance to the castle. We could get in.”

Keith pauses. “You didn’t tell my mother about this. The plan was to grapple in through the tower windows you pointed out on the blueprints –”

“That was before I saw what he’s done to my kingdom,” Shiro retorts, eyes burning hot and dark as the embers on the dying hearth. “I need to finish this, Keith. _Now.”_

“Hey,” Keith whispers, taking a step closer, “look at me. Just – just stop and think about this –”

“I _am_ thinking, Keith,” Shiro growls, stepping right into his space. “Very, very clearly. That man is in _my_ castle, on _my_ throne, destroying good people’s lives. He thinks he’s won.”

“He hasn’t won,” Keith retorts, standing his ground, though his breath shallows with Shiro so close, with the anger pouring off of him in simmering waves. It’s not fury directed at him, but the intensity is uncontrollable. “Shiro – he doesn’t win until he kills you. And I won’t let him do that.”

Shiro’s anger remains, but something in his dark gaze softens, now molten, not aflame. “Oh, Keith,” he whispers, voice dropping. “Perhaps this was why I didn’t want to bring you. I didn’t want to fight you if you tried to stop me.”

“Then don’t fight me,” Keith breathes. “Takashi –”

Something in Shiro sunders, looking at Keith before him. He doesn’t want to kill Zarkon any less, but he wants something even more than that. Something he’s wanted for a long time.

He might die tomorrow. _Fuck it._

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs, “how many of those letters did you read?”

Keith swallows. Shiro watches the movement of his throat with a greediness he no longer cares to hide. 

“All of them,” Keith admits.

Somehow it’s not the answer Shiro expects. He’s dizzy. His breath hitches. “So – so you know –”

“Yes,” Keith breathes. His head tilts up.

“And you’re not running?” Shiro adds, breathless.

“From you?” Keith closes the space between them, so close it hurts. “Never.”

Shiro kisses him so hard he knocks them off balance – or maybe it’s just the shock of it, the heat of Keith’s mouth against his own, sweet sanctuary.

Keith doesn’t even try to move away. Instead, he wraps an arm tight around Shiro’s waist and hauls him in, deepens the kiss with the sloppy determination of someone unused to kissing but desperate to figure it out immediately. Shiro is more than happy to help.

The anger is tempered, forged into something new, just as sharp but not vicious, not violent, no — though he’s not gentle as he backs them up to the nicer looking of the two beds, not gentle when he sinks a hand into Keith’s braided hair and tugs, _hard._ Keith keens into the kiss.

Shiro forces himself to slow when Keith’s teeth find his lower lip and Shiro can’t help but push him to the bed. Keith doesn’t protest, but Shiro has to stop himself for a moment, because this is _Keith_ : the same Keith he spent so many long afternoons with as a child, the same Keith who wove endless daisy crowns for him and sparred with him using swords made of fallen branches.

Shiro won’t deny he’s shared a bed with many, but – it’s different. The venue is the same – a seedy inn room, away from prying eyes – but the partner is not one who will leave in the morning. Or if he does, it will be to come to his senses and finally leave Shiro to fight his own battles.

More than that – this bedpartner is the one he’s thought of every time he kissed a stranger these past years, every time he worked them open on sure fingers, every time he fucked them past language or rode them to tears. Was it wrong? Maybe. Is _this_ wrong? He doesn’t really care.

Besides, even half-crushed under him, Keith seems to have no complaints. He drags Shiro down into another kiss almost as soon as he pulls away to breathe quick and ragged, both of their pulses pounding. _This is a terrible idea,_ Shiro’s logical brain says.

He’s not listening to that.

 _This is a terrible idea,_ Keith thinks as he licks into Shiro’s mouth, frantic for the hard press of his body. They’re crown princes of kingdoms that expect them to make alliances elsewhere, but — right now, it doesn’t matter. All he wants is Shiro, for as long as he can have him.

Shiro rolls, clutching Keith to him and grabbing a handful of Keith’s ass, not expecting it to make Keith buck and growl against him, ripping at his tunic until the lacing comes free and Keith’s got his hands on Shiro and the the sharp realization that _Keith is touching him_ is overwhelming.

“If you try to leave now,” Keith pants, “then I _will_ fight you.”

Shiro hums, breath hitching as Keith’s fingers sweep over his nipples and down to the sweeping cut lines of his hips. “I don’t think I’m in the mood for a fight now,” he admits, and drags his teeth down Keith’s throat.

“What’re you in the mood for,” Keith manages, pulse fluttering under Shiro’s tongue as his bites turn to slow licks, kissing and sucking at Keith’s neck because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t leave marks all over him. 

Shiro huffs, hips hitching forward on Keith’s thigh. “Mm, guess.”

Keith blinks, squirming against him without really meaning to. “Well, that’s your dick, so –”

Shiro doesn’t expect it. He can’t help himself from laughing, wheezing breathlessly as he buries his face in Keith’s shoulder, still holding Keith to him. “Yeah,” he rasps, “sure is.”

“Are you laughing at me?” Keith demands, though he sounds on the verge of giggling. Shiro bites his shoulder playfully and gives his waist a squeeze, lifting his head with a helpless grin. 

“No,” Shiro murmurs. “I just –” He loves him. The laughter fades and Shiro kisses him, soft, now.

Keith hums, clinging to him, deepening the kiss and wrapping a leg around Shiro’s, heel digging into his calves. The angle presses them flush to each other and Shiro feels him, hard and wanting, his tunic riding up, belly taut and rippling when Shiro smooths his right palm over it.

“Shiro,” Keith whispers when Shiro sucks a bruise into his throat and unlaces his tunic, stroking the exposed skin in fervent worship. _“Shiro,”_ Keith repeats, louder, and Shiro pulls back, confused, his gut filled with ice when he sees Keith staring at his scarred torso.

Shiro swallows and tries to draw his gaze away, nudging his knee between Keith’s thighs, but Keith won’t be moved. He leans forward, one hand tracing the scars etched over Shiro’s chest, the long one across his ribs; the other hand hesitant on Shiro’s back, where scars criss-cross.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, a halting plea, “don’t –”

“Shiro,” Keith repeats, his voice trembling, holding him tighter. “Fuck. They – Zarkon did this to you?”

“Don’t you try to run off and kill him now,” Shiro jokes, but Keith isn’t smiling. Shiro sighs. “Yes. He...plays with his prey.”

Keith’s fingers find where Shiro’s right shoulder, shrouded in scar tissue, meets his new silvery arm. “Maybe it isn’t princely for me to say I want to make him suffer,” Keith whispers, “but I do – for doing this to you, I want him to hurt.”

Shiro trembles. He cups Keith’s face.

“Hurting him would hurt you, too,” Shiro whispers, tucks his face into Keith’s throat, inhales. “Believe me. I wanted to. But it would never stop, Keith, the hurt would change you, change us – I just want to end this. He won’t have the pleasure of seeing the hurt spread.”

Keith is quiet for a moment. Then he leans in, kisses the scar across Shiro’s chest where Honerva drew her blade across his skin just because she could. “No,” Keith agrees. “He won’t have that. And he won’t have you.” He looks up at Shiro.

“I’m here,” Shiro promises. “Kiss me.”

Keith kisses him sweet and slow, curling his fingers through Shiro’s hair, where Haggar’s magic made the black turn white, dead. Shiro thought he would die, then – but he didn’t. Keith’s fingers brush the locket at his throat, which was caught and hidden on his shirt collar. He pauses.

“You kept it,” Keith whispers. “I thought – but you kept it.”

Too many words hang between them, and there isn’t time enough for them before dawn, nor does Shiro have the strength to face them now. He can try without words. He can try to show Keith what this, what he, means to him.

Maybe Keith has the same idea, because when Shiro leans in for another kiss, he wraps his leg tighter and tugs, flipping them until Shiro is on his back and Keith is braced over him, hands wandering with increasing confidence, more than happy to let Shiro manhandle him closer.

Shiro’s hand lands on the small of Keith’s back and slides down, under his belt, ignoring his undergarments altogether ‘til he feels smooth flesh. Keith shudders and ruts against his hip. Shiro’s teeth find a tender spot below Keith’s jaw, and he bites just as his thumb brushes Keith’s hole.

Keith’s nails dig into Shiro’s shoulders with a hiss. He’s gonna scratch like a wildcat before the night is done if Shiro has his way. Keith bows his head to Shiro’s shoulder and fumbles between them, muttering something Shiro can’t hear until Keith’s hand slides into his pants and Keith growls, “Wanna blow you.”

Shiro has to kiss Keith again, just for that. Keith indulges him for a few moments before he gets impatient again, scrambling down the bed and _fuck,_ okay, they’re doing this, Keith’s unlacing Shiro’s pants and drawing out his cock and this is _so much better_ than writing damn letters.

Shiro forgets what a letter even is when Keith, after a cross-eyed pause, valiantly swallows down Shiro’s cock in a feat that few have managed, or even attempted. Keith’s eyes fall shut, lips stretched wide and expression blissful. Shiro thinks he actually shouts when Keith hums, content.

“Keith –” He runs his fingers through Keith’s hair, half-afraid to be too rough, suddenly, fully afraid of the morning, of what happens after. It’s tempting to lose himself now, to forget, to press deep into wet heat & spill onto Keith’s eager tongue – but he wants to savor this.

Keith doesn’t pull off to answer, but his lashes flutter, and he rests his free hand on Shiro’s thigh, sort of petting it. For all his contentment he falters a few times, softly chokes or loses his rhythm, and each time Shiro nudges him to ease off, and traces where Keith’s lips shine with slow wonder.

Shiro loses himself to it, as does Keith. He’s thought about this, about sucking Shiro’s cock like he fucking means it – because he does – so many times. His jaw aches and his lungs burn when he forgets to breathe. Shiro’s _big,_ and Keith is glad – more for him to worship with his tongue.

So it’s a bit of a disappointment when Shiro pushes Keith off with a stuttered gasp just as his cock twitches and Keith is _sure_ he’s gonna come. 

Disgruntled, he blinks at Shiro, protests and precum on his lips, but he forgets both when Shiro sits up and asks, “Can I fuck you?”

Keith sits back on his heels, eyes wide. Somehow he never really thought they’d get to that tonight – but Shiro’s gaze is intent, the fire returned, and Keith’s weak for it.

Besides, how can he even ask that? Keith leans forward in invitation. “You did write about that...lots.”

Shiro’s lips part. “Hmm...did I? You’ll have to remind me.”

 _Little shit._ Keith obliges readily enough, stretching out over him and grasping Shiro’s wet cock in a firm squeeze. “I seem to remember reading them and riding my fingers to the thought – but maybe that’s just me.”

Sweat shines in the hollow of Shiro’s throat. “Not just you,” he admits, and Keith’s chest rumbles with a groan at the image of Shiro fucking himself, thinking of Keith. Keith rubs himself off on Shiro’s hip with a whine. Shiro shushes him and tugs Keith’s pants down to join his own on the floor.

They find oil, somehow – Keith’s pretty certain Shiro had some in his bag, which means either he hoped this would happen or he would have looked for someone else to fuck, and both thoughts make Keith hot for very different reasons. That’s how he ends up riding Shiro’s fingers, straddling his thighs and pushing his ass back into the welcome burn, stroking their cocks together in a slippery fist as Shiro clings to his final remaining threads of patience under him. Keith tilts his head back to the rafters and tries not to let the frantic sounds in his throat fall free.

He promptly gives up as Shiro pulls him into a kiss and everything is lost to blurry, warm pleasure. Keith almost wants to laugh, because his first time being bedded is by a king in a shitty inn bed, but instead he just sobs Shiro’s name and comes around his fingers while Shiro praises him.

Things move – quickly. They’re both greedy; Keith wraps a hand around Shiro’s cock and lines himself up as Shiro holds fast to his hips, lifts him, guides him with a gentle tone to his voice that his body doesn’t match when Keith sinks down. They’ve both waited too long for this to be anything but desperate.

For a moment neither of them moves. Keith’s back arches, frozen in a stiff, shocked curve as Shiro fills him, and Shiro’s hands bruise his waist, his breathing harsh and shallow. “Are you –” Shiro starts, and before he can finish Keith groans, “Yes, fuck, move,” and Shiro gladly obeys.

Shiro can’t tell if Keith is just a fast learner or just frantic to fuck himself on Shiro’s cock – or both – but either way, Shiro’s slower pace is quickly overtaken by the relentless roll of Keith’s hips, biting teeth at his throat, clawing his chest, dragging him ever closer.

 _Fine,_ Shiro thinks, smiling into the searing kiss Keith tugs him into, _two can play at that game._ He thrusts up, hard, hard enough that Keith bounces and _shouts,_ and it’s music to Shiro’s ears. He doesn’t slow, and neither does Keith, though he’s rapidly losing any semblance of rhythm.

They go on like this for longer than Shiro expected, honestly – it’s just something about Keith that keeps him on the edge for a small eternity, because he doesn’t want this to end, doesn’t know if there will be another time. When it does end, it’s in a tangled mess, together.

Keith slumps into his chest, flexing thighs splaying limp astride Shiro’s hips. Shiro shudders, tucking his head into the crook of Keith’s neck with a soft, sucking kiss. Keith whimpers into his chest, cock twitching weakly between them. They’re both a damn mess. It’s wonderful.

The candles choose that exact moment to burn out, plunging the already dim room into darkness. They both yelp, clutching at each other like sweaty, startled idiots. In the shadows, Keith meets Shiro’s eyes, and they both laugh, a little awkwardly, more than a bit uncertain.

So maybe they need to say some words. But staring at each other, neither dares to, even with Shiro softening inside Keith, the sticky evidence of their attraction cooling on Shiro’s belly. If they don’t talk about what this means, then – Shiro doesn’t know if he can stay silent.

But Keith breaks his gaze, clears his throat and shifts back, off of him. Shiro feels the loss acutely; it is far more than just a physical one. “I,” Keith starts, “I’m going to get cleaned up. We have an early morning ahead of us.”

Shiro exhales. “I can help, if you –”

Keith still avoids his gaze. “No, that’s. That’s alright, Shiro. Get some rest.”

Shiro sits up fully with a frown. “Keith. Really, I want to –”

“Please just sleep,” Keith sighs. “I don’t need help.”

“Oh,” Shiro says. It’s quiet, but he feels like he’s been punched.

He wants to help Keith anyway, but – there’s something fragile in the way he holds himself, something that tells Shiro if he tries to reach out now, he’ll ruin everything. That’s what his anxious mind tells him anyway. Maybe Keith just needs space. Unfortunately, Shiro needs _him._

They clean up on their own sides of the room with their own washbasins. Both listen to the sound of water and each other’s slow breaths and try not to turn around. Shiro returns to bed first and catches a glimpse of Keith’s curving back as he bends. Shiro looks away, absurd as it is to be shy _now._

Shiro hurriedly puts on his undergarments and slips under the blankets, unsure whether to put on more clothes, unsure if Keith will be uncomfortable. He expects Keith to return to his own bed, to drive the knife in further, but instead footsteps pad closeby and the mattress dips.

“Takashi?” Keith’s voice is small. Shiro hardly dares to move, to breathe. “Can I...can we...” He trails off, at a loss. There’s a hundred questions in those words. 

Shiro swallows. “Of course,” he whispers, not knowing which he’s answering. 

Keith lays down beside him.

There’s a long hesitation, and then Keith curls closer, along Shiro’s back, and presses his cold nose between Shiro’s scarred shoulder blades. The warmth of him in that cold dark room is the best thing Shiro’s ever felt. “Tomorrow,” Keith whispers, “you will be a king with a throne.”

“And you will be beside me,” Shiro says, without really thinking. Keith stiffens, makes a low sound of confusion, and Shiro’s gut twists as he hastens to add, “as my dearest friend and ally of my kingdom.”

“Ah,” Keith says. He buries his face in Shiro’s hair. “I will be there, yes.”

Shiro closes his eyes. “Goodnight, Keith.”

“Goodnight, Shiro.”

 _We are bloody fools,_ they both think as they drift off into uneasy slumber.

*

They attack at dawn. 

It is a quiet, almost underwhelming, endeavor to get into the castle. The towers are easily climbed, still scarred by battle like their king. Keith does not make eye contact with Thace and Ulaz, who have been eyeing him and Shiro since breakfast knowingly.

They climb in through the windows and dispatch the Galran guards quick enough. Keith is wary, and reads the same on Shiro’s face. This feels too easy. They make their way through mazelike halls, and Keith tries not to remember playing hide and seek in these same halls years ago with Shiro.

The Marmora spread out, but Keith stays always beside Shiro, ignoring his suggestion that they search in different directions. To his credit, Shiro doesn’t try to make that suggestion again. Keith refuses to leave him here, where the very air feels hostile, thick with tension and silence.

They sneak into the throne room, blades drawn.

They remain hidden in the shadows, slow and cautious, but as it turns out, it doesn’t matter.

All the windows slam shut, covered by thick velvet, plunging them into darkness, and this time they cannot find solace in each other. The light returns in an instant, blinding violet.

 _“Keith,”_ is Shiro’s first thought, the first word on his lips, but as he whirls, disoriented, shielding his eyes against the brilliance, Keith cries out, dragged away from him by two cloaked figures, Haggar’s Druids. Shiro lunges for them, catches one with his blade in its chest.

The same second, Shiro is thrown back against the dais, slamming into the stone steps as someone on the throne – his throne – laughs. “I was wondering when you’d return, princeling. So kind of you to already bow for me.”

Seething, Shiro struggles to his feet.

Keith fends off the second Druid, only for a third to take its place. Squinting through the light, he sees a cloaked figure at the opposite end of the throne room. _Haggar._ Keith glances back at Shiro, standing as if transfixed before Zarkon. He won’t have a chance as long as Haggar lives.

Keith breaks into a sprint towards Haggar, ducking under the grasping claws of several more Druids, and behind him Shiro shouts, but Keith is undeterred. The witch has magic, but Keith has a very sharp sword and he’s in no mood for tricks. He stabs the last Druid and reaches for her – 

– and the word spins away, and then Keith is standing in the Marmoran throne room, with Haggar before him, smiling under her hood, a ball of violet flame in her palm. It isn’t _really_ the Marmoran throne room, it must be an illusion, but – but Shiro isn’t there. Keith raises his blade.

“Where’s Shiro?” he demands. “What do you want from us?”

“You are a nuisance,” Haggar replies, circling, the dry rasp of her cloak like so many snakeskins. “Marmora is weak, and without you, the last Shirogane will have no will to reclaim his throne. It’s very simple.”

“I’ll show you _weak,”_ Keith snarls, and leaps for her.

*

Before Zarkon, Shiro lifts his sword and ascends the steps, unflinching. “You have something of mine,” he snarls. “I’d like it back.”

Zarkon’s lip curls. “Shame we didn’t snuff out that spark of yours. No matter. That will change, I think, when your little Marmoran is gone.”

Shiro falters. “You’re bluffing. You can’t kill him. He’s not –” He half-turns. Haggar is gone; the throne room is empty besides the two of them. Panic floods him. _“KEITH?”_

Zarkon chuckles and surges up from the throne, grabbing Shiro’s jaw. “Look. What a mighty warrior.”

Instantly, Shiro’s vision blacks out, narrows and refocuses and — no. _NO._ He’s standing in the Marmoran throne room, watching Keith and Haggar fight, all whirling blades and vicious strikes of violet magic. One catches Keith on his shoulder and he stumbles with an agonized gasp. Shiro cries out.

There’s nothing he can do. No move he can make to change this, to prevent this dream turning into awful reality. Zarkon’s fingers tighten on his jaw. “Watch closely,” he hisses, “I want you to see the moment he falls and the life leaves him.”

Under his chainmail, the locket warms.

“Keith!” Shiro cries again, but whatever Haggar and Zarkon have done, Keith cannot hear him; there is a division driven between them, as if an impenetrable veil has fallen, a shroud. Shiro is frozen, paralyzed by Zarkon’s touch, and still the locket warms, pulsing with his heartbeat.

Then he remembers, Keith’s voice echoing through his head soft but so strong.

_“Did it ever occur to you that Zarkon just wanted to separate us because he knew that together, he’d have no chance?”_

Together, the locket whispers, warmth tipping over into insistent, searing heat.

The pain jolts Shiro from the spell Zarkon and Haggar have placed over him, and this time, when he shouts Keith’s name, Keith falters, sword raised high, and sees him. “Shiro!” he gasps.

“How –” Zarkon starts, in a rage, just as Haggar sends a bolt of violet lightning at Keith.

Shiro still can’t move, but when he focuses on the locket and the sound of Keith’s voice, the tips of his fingers curl. Zarkon doesn’t notice, too focused with cruel delight on the witch’s lightning. It’s going to hit Keith, and it’s going to kill him. Shiro knows this. But…

But the locket is whispering to him again, and though before it held the voices only of nameless ghosts, now the voice solidifies, and somehow Shiro knows it is Keith’s father. 

_This is not how it ends,_ he says. _You know this. My son does not die here, alone. He dies old, content, after a full life, well-lived. With you._

Shiro’s hand, his right one, the one Zarkon and Haggar stole from him, curls into a fist. 

Another voice issues from the locket, then another, and another, and with each voice the heat intensifies and the glow from within it spreads ever outward, ‘til Shiro is haloed within it. And each voice is the voice of another ghost, another half of a whole who either lost or won in the end, but all are tied to this locket, enshrined in its golden links, and from within the locket itself, a power swells, illuminates, _explodes._

The spell holding Shiro breaks, and he swings his sword with all his might, cleaving Zarkon’s head off in one blow.

The lightning snuffs out midair as Haggar falls to her knees with a howl of grief and pain, cut off as Keith closes the distance and plunges his blade into her heart.

And the thing is – neither of them thinks of rage nor revenge nor grief in those moments of ending. No, as Shiro watches Zarkon’s head, face frozen in shock, roll from his shoulders and down the stone dais, crown clattering off to land at Shiro’s feet...all he feels is strange peace.

And as Haggar crumples, staring at Keith with vicious fury that twists her features even in death, Keith only pities her. He lets her fall, not unkindly, but with the knowledge that she has caused enough hurt for her king – and he, for her – for a thousand lifetimes.

The Marmoran throne room fades away; it was illusory all along. They stand in the Shirogane castle. The locket fades to a soft radiance at Shiro’s throat. Slowly, Keith approaches him, and kneels to retrieve the crown. 

“I think,” he murmurs, holding it out, “this belongs to you.”

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, reaching out to cup his cheek — he just has to know Keith is there, real and solid and alive. 

“It’s over,” Keith whispers back. “You’ve won.” He hesitates, and lifts the crown to place it upon Shiro’s brow. Shiro bows his head, face tilted close to Keith’s.

“Yes,” Shiro breathes. He wants to kiss Keith. _Together,_ the locket said. _He will die old, with you._ Can it really be? “Keith, I...”

The throne room doors burst open. The Blades are there, having fought their way through a swarm of soldiers waiting for them. Krolia runs to them.

“You live,” Krolia gasps, relief etched into her expression, replaced by slow understanding at the sight of the glowing locket.

Shiro steps away. “Yes,” he agrees. “Ring the bells. Zarkon is dead.”

“Congratulations, King Shirogane,” Keith murmurs. 

*

The Alteans reach the castle a few days later, after securing and freeing the few towns still under Galra control. Most of the soldiers fled after hearing of the emperor’s death. 

Alfor will expect Shiro to uphold his end of the bargain, Keith knows. A king must have a queen.

Keith avoids Shiro for the next few weeks as best he can without being outright hostile. There’s much work to be done, so it isn’t difficult to just keep his distance. He thinks Shiro is hurt by it, but Keith doesn’t know what to do, what to say. He thinks of those damn letters.

So many of the letters ended with Shiro’s confliction, with the understanding that they could not be together, not the way they wished to...but that one letter, the one where Shiro said he didn’t care about what was expected of them, he just wanted Keith...Keith’s heart hurts.

Krolia sees her son’s pain and tries to speak with him, as do Thace and Ulaz, but he runs from them, too. 

But his last night in Shiro’s kingdom, there is nowhere to run. Shiro has a coronation ball, a grand celebration. Keith fears his engagement to Princess Allura will be announced.

Keith manages to get through the feasting and the dancing. His gaze keeps straying to Shiro, who looks every inch the part of a king, dressed in flowing, pale gray robes embroidered with silver silk that gleams in the candlelight. His family emblem, a lion, is pinned to his cloak.

Shiro dances with Allura, of course. They spin and laugh as the music builds to a crescendo, and Keith cannot help but feel ill, skulking in the corner with his champagne. After the dance, Shiro and Alfor talk at length with hushed tones and knowing smiles. Keith doesn’t want to know.

But Keith is glad, at least, for the air of cheer in the kingdom. Shiro will be a good king; everyone knows this. He is young, full of wisdom beyond his years and with enough ambition to serve his kingdom well, yet enough humility to not succumb to power. Keith will miss him dearly.

Keith has decided he must leave both their kingdoms for a while. Krolia will be queen for many years yet, with any luck, and now having had a glimpse of the future he so desires, Keith knows he cannot be content with marrying Acxa and simply standing by as Shiro weds Allura. So he must go, before he inadvertently starts another war.

When Shiro stands before the crowd of merry guests to give a toast, and likely the dreaded announcement, Keith slips away, out of the palace and into the gardens. He does not wish to hear it. In the night air, he shivers, pausing beside a topiary lion and frowning at it.

The locket saved his life twice while Shiro wore it. Why do such a thing only for Shiro to marry another? It’s cruel. Keith frowns harder at the lion and downs the rest of his champagne. He’s not going to think about how good it felt to kiss Shiro, to be filled by him. He’s _not._

Inside, the crowd’s sounds of joyous celebration begin again with applause and more music, and Keith’s brow furrows further. He tosses the champagne glass into the topiary. The speech is over already? What, did they kiss and call it a night? 

Someone clears their throat behind him.

Keith turns, ready to snap at the unwanted intruder to his solitude, but the words die in his throat. It’s Shiro. He looks amused and more than a little exasperated.

“I thought I might find you here,” Shiro sighs. “It’s quite awkward to give a speech about someone who’s vanished.”

“Huh?” Keith says, eloquently.

Shiro raises an eyebrow and takes a step closer. Keith holds very still, breathless. “Keith,” he murmurs, “I love you, but you’re being a stubborn fool right now.”

Keith gapes at him. “You – that’s not – but, Allura – _Takashi?!”_ He can’t make words.

“Princess Allura,” Shiro murmurs, “is a very good friend and ally to my kingdom, as is her father, who kindly agreed to divide the lands previously ruled by Zarkon with myself and Marmora in a joint-rulership instead of securing the alliance with a marriage.”

“Ah,” Keith croaks.

“Ah,” Shiro repeats, fondly mocking. 

Keith’s mouth twitches. “You love me,” he repeats.

“I thought you read the letters.”

“I thought you were marrying Allura!”

Shiro hums, steps closer. “I’m a king. If I’m marrying anyone it ought to be the love of my life. Don’t you think?”

“And who would that be,” Keith breathes, as Shiro takes another step towards him.

Shiro’s eyes gleam. “You just like hearing me say it, don’t you?”

Keith swallows, face hot. “Maybe – maybe the next time you say it, I’ll believe it.”

“I love you,” Shiro repeats, softer.

“What a coincidence,” Keith manages, feeling dizzy, though Shiro’s hand is now on his waist, steadying him, “because I love you, too.”

“Mm,” Shiro teases, “a shocking turn of events.” He squeezes Keith’s hip. “But it’s good to hear you say it. I’ve hoped you’d say it for years.”

“I didn’t want to lose you,” Keith whispers, wrapping an arm around Shiro’s waist and drawing him in as he stumbles with delighted surprise into Keith’s embrace.

“You won’t,” Shiro says, and he says it with such conviction that Keith believes him. 

The kiss afterwards helps, too.

The coronation ball continues within the palace, joy and laughter spilling out of the open windows into the quiet garden, where two kings kiss under the starry skies, a golden locket glowing soft and content between them.

(...and, of course, they lived happily ever after.)


End file.
